That Horse Of Charley
by Soncnica
Summary: I think the title says it all, but if I must summarize: That horse of Charley is one mean, painful SOB.


**I own nothing. All mistakes are mine. Sorry.**

**Enjoy.**

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The night was quiet, which was a huge change after the last motel they'd stayed in, where a baby kept on crying and crying in the room left from theirs and when it stopped, the couple in the room on the right started to yell and scream at each other. It had been nasty and made Dean glad he was a single man. They'd packed up early in the morning, as soon as they had been able to get the grit from their eyes and then they were gone.

They drove for a few hours, just mindlessly watching the desert change into tall trees and green grass, the Impala purring beneath them and eating up the road like she'd been born to do. When the sun began to set, leaving an orange goodbye on the horizon, Dean parked her on some forest road, far away from any nosy eyes that would come ask questions and offer help and god knew what else. They just needed some space, some time and some goddamn sleep. After not sleeping well for almost a week, weather it had been the motel's room fault or a case's fault, they just needed one night ... one night of darkness and silence and the best way to get that had been in the middle of nowhere, cramped in the car, where their backs would hurt in the morning and their necks would have a crick. But it had still been the best night's rest they'd gotten in almost eight days.

After having a deep, well rested night in the car, they drove again. With the music up high, their elbows hanging out the windows, soft breeze in their hair and the road seemingly endless before them ... it felt good. Felt like maybe life really wasn't all that bad and trying to screw them over every chance it got. Yeah, felt like life was good.

Until Bobby called, interrupting their ride to nowhere with a case. A werewolf in Montana. People dying. People getting their hearts ripped out. People going missing and then being found mangled. Dead.

Yeah, that kinda screwed with the serenity they had going on while cruising on the blacktop.

-:-

And now here they were, snoring into the quiet night, in a motel room that was almost a part of the woods that were stretching behind it. And it was silent, no neighbors, no babies crying, nothing. It was quite disturbing really and it took them a few hours to find their equilibrium and fall asleep.

The moon was bright, spilling silver light through the blinds and across Sam's stomach. It wasn't completely full yet, giving them a few more days before hunting the werewolf down, which was just fine by them. The more time they had, the better they could prepare themselves to hunt, the less chance there would be for injuries and screw ups. They needed to kill it and then move on to the next case, next town, next state, because monsters wait for no one.

"Arghhh, fuck! Ahhhh, guh, aaauuuugh, shiiiit..."

Sam's scream broke through the soft snores coming from his brother and pierced the silence they both wanted so badly. He raised himself up on his elbows, dipping into the soft mattress, his right hand barely stretched enough to brush at his right leg.

It hurt. It hurt so badly, his muscles pulling and tightening up like nobody's business. He gripped his calf as best as he could what with the mattress all but having sucked him in, but he couldn't do anything but run his fingers up and down. The fucking mattress was trying to eat him up and the muscle cramp in his leg was seriously gonna bring him to tears if he wouldn't massage it out soon.

Then there was a swift movement on his left - blankets shifting and rustling, bed groaning - it all happened so fast Sam only had time to blink once before he saw his brother bleary eyed and crouching on the shaggy carpet between their beds, gun raised and ready to shoot: "What, where?"

It would be funny, if his calf wasn't in the middle of trying to kill him: "M' leg, cramp..." he gritted out, took a deep breath and flopped back down, giving in to the soft pillow and an even softer mattress. His brother was awake now; he'd take care of it.

-:-

His brother's yell scared the crap out of him. And he was just having this awesome dream, damnit.

He sighed and lowered the gun, safety on, and threw it on his bed. He couldn't really shoot Sam's leg off, even if Sam looked like it would be a mercy shot. He got up from the carpet, turned on the light on the night stand and sat down by his brother's foot. He glanced up at Sam, finding his little brother's eyes squeezed shut, sweat pouring down his face, drops of it running down his neck that was strained as a bow. His jaw was clenched tight, probably to stow any more shouts of pain, his fingers were clenching and unclenching the blanket, his other leg moving up and down the bed like it had a mind of its own and yeah, okay.

"Cramp, huh?"

Sam nodded, breathed and covered his face with his hands, hiding his fingers in his sweaty hair.

He grabbed the leg and squeezed the calf gently just to get a feel for what he was working with here. His touch made Sam hiss.

"Sorry."

He wasn't sure why he was apologizing, it wasn't as if he hadn't had to hurt Sam before making him better, but it was never really easy on his 'protect Sammy' nerve living in his brain and heart.

He pushed up the sweat pants Sam wore to sleep, all the way up to the knee and gripped the calf firmer, really digging in his fingers and palms, trying to rotate the foot and knee left and right, trying to put some strength into what he was doing because they were both tired and in need of more sleep, before going to the morgue in the morning to double check if it really, really, really was a werewolf.

His brother was gasping, groaning and whimpering into his own palms and it wasn't a pretty sight to see a grown man do all that over a little muscle cramp in the leg. But Dean knew how painful the spasms could be, how freaking helpless they could make you, especially if one couldn't do anything about it. And for Sam they had always been the worst thing ever, even worse than getting shot. Or stabbed.

"How're we doing here?"

Sam nodded and lowered his hands to clutch at the sheet where the blanket had fallen off the bed.

"That good, huh?" he smiled and went on with the massage, his fingers digging into the tight muscle. It felt like there was a stone beneath the warm skin, a stone he had to crush into dust to make the muscle relax. He saw Sam's fingers squeezing the sheet start to loose their grip, breathing calming down, and his hisses becoming quieter.

"You good?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam nodded and looked up at the ceiling, "'m okay."

"Okay, alright, just take it easy," he sighed, "man I almost shot you."

"It would've been a mercy shot, trust me."

His brother was breathless, wiping sweat off his face.

"Yeah, well," Dean stopped, the words 'I'd have to be the one to clean up the mess' stuck in his throat, when he saw his little brother there, a kid he'd do anything for, "just go to sleep. Long day tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Dude, how'd you get a cramp with all the rabbit food you eat every day?"

"Shut up." he groaned and hid his face in the pillow when Dean chuckled: "You really should try a burger once in awhile, ya know."

"Shut up." It was muffled by the pillow, but he knew the point got across.

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**The End**


End file.
